Les Misérables
by Lost Sapphires
Summary: Sometimes life doesn't live up to the dream. Post 3x01, Inspired by Mycroft's trip to the theatre. Sherlolly.


Not Mine. Don't Sue.

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"My parents made Mycroft take them to Le Mis." He was lying on her sofa, legs dangling over one end, fingers steepled under his chin.

"I'm sure he was thrilled" She was sat on the ground, her back against the seat, files spread out on the coffee table.

Sherlock smiled, "utterly"

"I like Le Mis" she added absent mindedly, more to herself than him. "I dreamed a dream" is one of my favourites"

"Favourite what?" he asked.

She turned to look at him, trying to decide if he was teasing. ""Are you serious? Everyone knows that song… _everyone_!"

"I don't." He met her gaze as she studied him. She could feel her cheeks getting warm, and she looked away. Inwardly she cursed herself, wasn't she past that yet?

"How does it go?" He asked, curiosity evident

"Hmm?" She hadn't been listening, busy internally berating herself.

"The song. How does it go?"

"Oh! …um…"I dreamed a dream in time gone by, blah, blah, blah…."

"That's hardly helpful."

She shrugged, trying to focus on the files; necrosis was hardly a compelling subject when Sherlock Holmes was staring at the back of your head.

"Sing it"

"No." She laughed at the absurdity of the request.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't sing."

"Yes, you do, you sing all the time… You're always singing some irritating _popular_ tune in the morgue."

"I do not." Her cheeks are heating up again.

"Yes, you do. Just because you don't realise you're doing it doesn't mean you're not. It's annoying, they get stuck in my head." He was mumbling then, ranting to himself. It was mostly incoherent with a few clear phrases; mind palace, can't delete, background noise… Sometimes he really does come across a little crazy.

She stared at the sheets in front of her, chewing on her bottom lip. If Tom were there he'd tell her off, tell her not to abuse it so, and kiss her. Sweet words and sweet kisses. Of course if Tom were here, Sherlock wouldn't be.

She didn't decide on it. It just happened. Unbidden the tune emerged from her, a soft hum in her throat. He shifted his position behind her, then stilled, quiet, observing.

The words followed, slipping from her lips as if she had no way to hold them in. Not quite a song, not quite spoken, somewhere between; soft, melodic, melancholy words slipped into the air.

"I dreamed a dream in time gone by;

When hope was high and life worth living,  
I dreamed that love would never die;

I dreamed that God would be forgiving,

Then I was young and unafraid;

And dreams were made and used and wasted,  
There was no ransom to be paid,

No song unsung, no wine untasted.

But the tigers come at night;

With their voices soft as thunder,"

She stopped. The words caught in her throat. Her thoughts carried away. Two years ago, the Tiger they had known, the predator that had hidden in the shadows. That had played with her like a mouse. Amber eyes that had seemed so kind. A voice that had started out so gentle, only to grow into a thunderclap. She should have seen the signs. Thunder always comes before a lightning strike.

"They tear your hope apart and turn your dream to shame."

It was a whisper. It was the truth. The dreams she had once were gone. They were taken and destroyed, and she couldn't hold them the way she used to. Ideas about her and him, what they could be, what they could have; it was gone. She had Tom now. Tom would make her happy. He loved her, she would love him. Love grows, it would come.

She realised she was playing with the engagement ring, twisting it round and round.

"Is that the end?" The rumble of his voice broke the silence.

Her hands stilled. Somehow she had forgotten he was there. How had she done that?

She shook her head, "no". She stood to move away. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Finish it." His voice was softer now. They way it was when it was just them. When he didn't need the bravado, when he wasn't putting on "The Sherlock Show!"; like, when he had asked for her help, or thanked her and offered his congratulations. That voice could reach inside her. That voice could make her do anything.

"Sherlock" It was a plea, and she knew it.

"Please" he pulled her back a little, and she let him. She sat on the sofa beside him, eyes on floor and utterly aware that he still had his hand around her wrist. Her skin felt like it was burning.

It all went still again. The room seemed quieter than before.

When she started again it wasn't a song, it was just words. It didn't need to prettied up or sweetened, the words were the same.

"He slept, a summer by my side;  
He filled my days with endless wonder,  
He took my childhood in his stride  
But he was gone when autumn came"

She looked at him. He was watching her. Observing, deducing… whatever he wanted to call it. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

"And still I dream, he'll come to me,

That we will live the years together,"

She stopped again. Her eyes were stinging, tears threatening at the corners. She bit her lip and looked away. She couldn't cry over lost dreams anymore.

"But there are dreams that cannot be;

And there are storms we cannot weather."

I had a dream, my life would be,  
So different, from this," She stumbled. "this hell, I'm living,  
So different, now, from what it seemed;

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed."

Silence fell. She could feel his eyes on her. His fingers slipped from her wrist to intertwine with hers. She stared at them, his hand and hers. His long fingers easily enclosing hers.

"It's a very sad song" He observed unnecessarily. His voice was a whisper. Trying to fill the void her voice had left, and yet unsure of shattering the silence.

She nodded. "Yeah; it is."

"Then why do you like it?"

She felt her eyes being drawn back to him and she smiled. Why would she love something that made her so sad?

"I can't remember"

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R&R, Please & Thanks, xoxo


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